


Chilly Day in Markarth

by phoenixquest



Series: Ryndoril and Ondolemar [6]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Anal Fingering, Fluff, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-22
Updated: 2014-05-22
Packaged: 2018-01-26 03:03:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1672316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenixquest/pseuds/phoenixquest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ondolemar is taking a relaxing ride through Markarth when it begins to rain. He finds Ryndoril struggling to fight off a mudcrab in the river nearby and gives his assistance, bringing Ryndoril back to Markarth to warm up. Ryndoril is grateful…and is sure to let Ondolemar know it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The chilly breeze shook the few leaves that remained on the trees, the weak sunlight barely penetrating the clouds. Ondolemar was a little chilled himself, despite his Thalmor robes with their protective enchantments; it had been a pleasantly sunny afternoon when he started out, but the clouds had quickly increased.

He’d gone out for an afternoon ride, taking his guards with him this time. He hadn’t really wanted to, but after the trouble he ran into with the Forsworn, Ryndoril had made him swear he wouldn’t go off alone like that again.

It was strange what the Bosmer could make him do.

Ryndoril had left the day after they’d slept together for the first time; Lydia had told him some group of companions was summoning him. Ondolemar hadn’t really understood, mostly being disappointed that Ryndoril was leaving again so quickly. He had blushed when Ryndoril offered to make it up to him as soon as he got back, kissing him sweetly before he headed off.

That had been a little over a week ago, and though he missed the Bosmer terribly (where _had_ this ridiculous emotion come from?), he had done a rather fine job of focusing on his work as of late. The only reason he’d come out for a ride that afternoon was to take advantage of what seemed to be one of the last nice days of the season, but now he was starting to regret it.

“Let’s go back,” Ondolemar said regretfully to his guards, turning his horse back toward the Dwemer city. His guards followed and he sighed, wishing he’d gotten to ride a little longer; even with the guards along, it was peaceful, and he enjoyed it. They hadn’t gotten very far when rain started to fall; fat, cold droplets began to soak his hair, and he pulled the hood of his robes up for more protection.

They were just passing part of the stream that ran near Markarth when a strange movement caught his eye; he readied a ball of fire, presuming it was another of the disgusting mudcrabs, when dark red hair came to his attention. It wasn’t a mudcrab, but a person – a person with shredded armor and shoulder-length red hair, who was struggling through the muddy bank.

And, apparently, being attacked _by_ a mudcrab.

Ondolemar quickly turned his horse off the road toward the commotion, getting close enough that he shot the mudcrab with a bolt of lightning strong enough to knock it out entirely.

“Ryn,” he said as the Bosmer looked up at him, bewildered. “What in Auri-El’s name happened to you?”

“Ondolemar,” Ryndoril panted, looking relieved as he shouldered his bow. “Uh…long story. Thanks for that.”

“Are you alright?” Ondolemar asked in concern.

“Fine,” Ryndoril said, clearly shivering. “Just _freezing_.”

“Come here,” Ondolemar commanded, holding out his hand. Ryndoril struggled the rest of the way up the bank, grabbing Ondolemar’s hand; the Bosmer was cold as ice. “Divines, Ryn, you weren’t kidding. Come on,” he added, taking a foot out of its stirrup. “Grab my arm and jump up.” Ryndoril did as he was told, landing a little awkwardly; the horse shied sideways a bit, but Ondolemar’s gentle voice and Ryndoril’s affinity for animals calmed him easily. Ondolemar took his stirrup again and pulled Ryndoril’s arms around him, holding him firmly and trying to ignore how his heart leapt at the Bosmer’s embrace.

“Thanks,” Ryndoril said, leaning his head against Ondolemar’s back. Despite the cold in the air, the Altmer was quite warm, and Ryndoril found it comforting. He let out a sigh of relief, and the horse started to move as Ondolemar started back toward the city, guards following. “I see you didn’t come out alone.”

“No,” Ondolemar said in amusement, his mood improved vastly by Ryndoril’s presence. “It seems you shouldn’t have, either.”

“Probably not,” Ryndoril agreed. His armor had been shredded by a bear, he’d been hit with frostbite poison from a spider, he’d been knocked in the freezing water of the river by a Forsworn, and now it was raining. Fortunately he’d had enough healing potions to take care of his injuries, but there was nothing to be done about the blasted _cold_! He shivered despite Ondolemar’s warmth.

“We’re close to Markarth,” Ondolemar said, clearly trying to reassure him; Ryndoril was grateful for his kindness. “You’ll warm up inside.” Ryndoril didn’t answer, just clung tighter to the Altmer in front of him for the warmth he provided. He felt Ondolemar’s arms squeeze his own gently, and he melted a little bit just from the sweetness of the gesture.

Despite the cold, he was quite giddy to see the Altmer again; he’d missed him very much.

It started raining harder then, and Ondolemar picked up his horse’s pace, calling for his guards to do the same. Ryndoril was bouncing a little uncomfortably.

“Come closer,” Ondolemar called back, tugging at Ryndoril’s arms. “Move up more; you won’t bounce so much.” Ryndoril tried, but the saddle made it difficult. 

Soon enough, though, they were at the stables, and Ondolemar stopped his horse. He helped Ryndoril get down – the Altmer was quite strong – and then dismounted himself, handing the horse over to the stable hand with a reassuring pat on its neck.

“Go on up to the Keep,” Ondolemar said to his guards, putting his arm around Ryndoril and pulling the Bosmer close to him for warmth. “I will return later.”

“Master Ondolemar, are you sure?” Rolain asked, eyeing the Bosmer warily, and Ondolemar glared at him.

“I do not say anything I am not sure of,” Ondolemar snapped. “Now, go!” His guards trudged off, shaking their heads.

“I’ll be alright, now I’m back,” Ryndoril said, his teeth chattering. “You can go with them, if you wanted to.”

“Nonsense,” Ondolemar said smoothly. “You are frozen and soaked to the bone. I will at least see you to your house.” Ryndoril smiled, leaning into the Altmer gratefully.

They didn’t say anything else as they went up to Vlindrel Hall; Ondolemar could feel Ryndoril shaking with the cold, and it concerned him. He fully intended to see that the Bosmer would be alright. He’d thought of little else but him since their night together, and felt quite emotional toward Ryndoril; now the wood elf was back, Ondolemar really wanted to spend a bit of time with him.

Ryndoril struggled with the key, unable to get it in the lock from shaking so much, and so Ondolemar took it from him and opened the door himself. It was dark when they entered; no fire lit or anything.

“Where is that damned housecarl of yours?” Ondolemar groused, annoyed, as he cast a magelight above them.

“Probably visiting Lydia,” Ryndoril laughed, teeth chattering so hard it made it difficult to speak. “It’s alright. I’ve got it.” He started to pull away from Ondolemar to go light the fireplace, but Ondolemar held him more tightly to his side.

“Patience,” Ondolemar said. He walked nearer the fire so he could aim properly and sent a flame spell at it, lighting it at once, and then led Ryndoril into the bedroom where he lit the few candles on the nightstand. The magelight disappeared then, leaving them in some darkness.

“Taking care of me?” Ryndoril said, half-teasing the mer but thoroughly pleased.

“Yes,” Ondolemar said decisively. “You need to get out of those wet clothes and lie down. I’ll be right back.” Ryndoril almost laughed – the Altmer was being quite bossy, but he supposed that was really his way. It was clearly coming from a place of caring about Ryndoril, so he didn’t exactly mind.

Ondolemar walked out to the main room, looking for a bottle of wine for the Bosmer; he knew it would help him feel a bit warmer, at least. He wasn’t sure why he was so intent on caring for the elf; gods knew that he was not the coddling type, but something about Ryndoril just made him _want_ to take care of him. And after all, the Bosmer had been so very kind to _him_ after he’d been injured by the Forsworn.

He finally found a bottle of wine, though it was not the spiced wine Ryndoril preferred; Ondolemar supposed it would do anyway. He took it back in, seeing the Bosmer obediently settled on the bed, the blankets wrapped tightly around him.

“You should get out of your wet clothes, too, you know,” Ryndoril said, his teeth not chattering quite as badly anymore as he started to warm up.

“In a minute,” Ondolemar said, frowning a little; he didn’t like being told what to do. He handed over the bottle of wine, uncorking it before Ryndoril took it. “That should help some.”

“Thanks,” Ryndoril said, feeling a bit bewildered. “You’re being quite nice.” Ondolemar smiled suddenly.

“Well, I’m glad to see you again,” he said, then flushed slightly at the words. He hadn’t really meant to say them, but Ryndoril grinned widely.

“I’m glad to see you, too,” Ryndoril said, taking a drink of the wine. It helped warm him almost immediately. “And I was really glad to see you take down that mudcrab,” he added with a short laugh.

“Yes, well, you looked like you were having a bit of trouble,” Ondolemar said, having gone to Ryndoril’s dresser to go through the clothing. “Is there anything in here that will even fit me?” All the clothes were so _small_. The last time he’d been there and worn the clothes from the dresser, they’d been larger; he presumed the Jarl expected someone more of a Nord build to buy the house, and filled the dresser accordingly. It seemed the clothes had been replaced by ones for Ryndoril himself now, however.

“Second drawer,” Ryndoril laughed. Ondolemar had much better luck in that one. He nodded his thanks to Ryndoril before leaving the room, taking off his soaked clothing and replacing it with a comfortable tunic and loose trousers. It was then he realized with a jolt that Ryndoril had purposely kept that drawer full of clothes that he could never wear, just for Ondolemar.

It was a pleasant realization.

“Right then,” Ondolemar said, sitting down on the bed next to Ryndoril.

“By all means, make yourself at home,” Ryndoril snickered, heartily amused by Ondolemar’s behavior. He never would’ve expected the elf to act quite like that, so comfortable around him. Ondolemar flushed.

“I – sorry,” he said quickly, moving to get up. “I didn’t mean – “

“No, don’t go,” Ryndoril said, reaching for the Altmer’s arm and keeping him on the bed next to him. “I’m only teasing you. Please, stay as long as you want. I like the company.”

“I suppose it was quite rude of me,” Ondolemar said, feeling embarrassed; what was he thinking, acting like he’d lived here all this time? What had _possibly_ come over him? Ryndoril’s still-chilled hand on his arm made him very much want to stay put, though.

“Not at all,” Ryndoril shook his head. “You helped me back here, after all. Might’ve just frozen to death if you hadn’t come along. Or been eaten by a mudcrab.” Ondolemar felt the strangest sensation as the Bosmer said this; it was as though he’d been shot in the chest with an ice spike. The idea of such a thing happening to Ryndoril made his blood run cold.

“Yes, well, you’re alright now,” Ondolemar said, trying to shake the feeling off.

“Thank you,” Ryndoril said sincerely, taking hold of Ondolemar’s hand. Ondolemar’s lips quirked in a smile as the Bosmer grasped his fingers. 

Ondolemar was feeling very off kilter; part of him still felt the intimacy of the last encounter with the Bosmer and simply wanted to continue where they’d left off, but another part of him was keenly aware that it had been a week since they’d even spoken last, and it felt rather inappropriate to be so forward.

Ryndoril didn’t seem to have any such misgivings as he squeezed Ondolemar’s fingers, smiling over at him.

“So what were you doing out and about?” Ryndoril asked.

“Just thought it would be a pleasant afternoon for a ride,” Ondolemar said. “It started off well enough, before it started to rain.”

“I’m just glad you didn’t go out alone again,” Ryndoril laughed.

“Well, I did promise,” Ondolemar said. “I wish _you_ hadn’t. What happened?” Ryndoril sighed, taking another drink of wine; he was warming up quite nicely, and he thought it had rather little to do with the fire, the wine, or the blankets. 

“I was on my way back from Whiterun,” Ryndoril explained. “I finished a job for the Companions over in Eastmarch and came back this way, but I was attacked by a pair of rogue Forsworn. I got them, but I fell off a bit of a hill into the stream, and then shortly after got pushed back in by a bear.”

“A bear?” Ondolemar asked, wide-eyed. “Are you hurt?”

“Nah, my potions did fine for it,” Ryndoril said, shaking his head. “That’s what got my armor, though. And then I had trouble getting up the bank, and a mudcrab attacked me…that’s when you found me.”

“And you got away from all that, ending up no worse off than cold,” Ondolemar said, shaking his head. “Incredible.”

“Yeah, well, I’m good at what I do,” Ryndoril grinned, echoing Ondolemar’s words from the first night they’d met. Ondolemar smiled back.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Ondolemar said sincerely. “So who were these companions you were so eager to go help?”

“Ah,” Ryndoril said, reddening a bit. “The Companions, in Whiterun. Er…the group that comes from the Five Hundred Companions.” Ondolemar looked at him in disbelief.

“You are a part of _their_ group?” he asked. “You joined those who did so much harm to the elves so long ago?”

“Yeah, I know,” Ryndoril said sheepishly. “But I didn’t know that when I joined them. Never been much for history.”

“And now you know, you help carry on their traditions?” Ondolemar asked, a bit annoyed. “Really, Ryndoril. The Five Hundred Companions are the reason these Nords are even here, you know.”

“I know, I know,” Ryndoril said, shaking his head. “But I started with them to make some coin, and…well, in all fairness it wasn’t _them_ who came down from Atmora.”

“It’s a matter of principle,” Ondolemar said, disgruntled. “A group of _Nords_ , Ryndoril. Really?” Ryndoril laughed.

“Oh, calm down, Master Thalmor,” he teased. “Not all the Nords are out for elf blood, after all. There’s even an elf in the Companions.”

“Is that right,” Ondolemar asked dryly.

“Yes, Athis, a Dunmer,” Ryndoril said, smiling a little at the thought of the grouchy yet entertaining dark elf. “He’s a lot of fun.” Ondolemar grew even more annoyed at that.

“Well, then, I suppose I shouldn’t keep you from having _fun_ with your Nords and Dunmer _friend_ ,” Ondolemar said, pulling his hand away from Ryndoril’s and getting to his feet. He knew it was a stupid reaction, but he couldn’t help it – he’d been missing the elf all this time, and now he found out Ryndoril had gone away because these Companions were more _fun_? He was hurt and angry, irrational as it may seem, and he was even more angry that he _knew_ it was irrational and still felt it! Where in Tamriel were these ridiculous emotions coming from?

“Are you _jealous_?” Ryndoril asked, nonplussed. He’d already determined the elf was possessive, but by the Eight…

“Of course I’m not jealous,” Ondolemar snapped, though his ears burned a bit – it was perhaps more true than he would admit. “What do I have to be jealous of? I am far superior to any Nord, or even a _fun_ Dunmer.” Ryndoril couldn’t help it – he burst out laughing. Ondolemar was embarrassed, annoyed, and now offended. He made an angry noise in his throat before stalking out of the bedroom.

“Ondolemar, wait!” Ryndoril called between cackles of mirth. “Oh, come on, don’t make me get up and come after you.” 

Ondolemar ignored him, snatching his robes from where he’d put them by the fire to dry and yanking off the dry clothes he’d put on. He had just started into his own leather trousers when Ryndoril came out of the bedroom, clad only in trousers himself. The Bosmer’s face fell when he saw Ondolemar.

“Don’t go,” Ryndoril said, all trace of laughter gone, his heart clenching a little at the idea of the Altmer leaving so soon. He was a bit tired after the afternoon he’d had, but he’d mostly warmed up by now…and he didn’t really want the source of the warmth to run off angry.

The sadness in the Bosmer’s voice was what stopped Ondolemar, his trousers around his waist but not yet fastened. He looked over at the elf, still annoyed, but softened a bit at the dejected look on Ryndoril’s face.

“I’m sorry,” Ryndoril continued, cautiously walking toward him. “I…I didn’t mean anything by it. Really.” Ondolemar stood still, considering; his pride was quite injured, that much was for sure, but the look of sadness on the Bosmer’s face made it hard to actually leave. His indecision left him standing uncertainly as Ryndoril approached him, looking hesitant, but finally kissing him softly.

Alright. So he wasn’t leaving.

“I _am_ sorry,” Ryndoril murmured as he pulled back, looking uncertainly into the Altmer’s eyes as his hands rested on the higher shoulders. 

Ondolemar couldn’t think what to say, exactly, and so wrapped his arms around the Bosmer and drew him in for another kiss, longer this time. His embarrassment had quite died away with the touch of Ryndoril’s lips, and he wanted little more than to continue kissing the Bosmer.

“Does that mean you forgive me?” Ryndoril breathed between a few short kisses. Ondolemar laughed softly.

“Ah, Ryn,” he murmured, feeling lighter than he had any reason to. “You are ridiculous, you know that?” Ryndoril grinned widely at him, pleased that the Altmer seemed alright again.

“As long as being ridiculous means you’re not running off,” Ryndoril said happily. Ondolemar flushed a little.

“You’re still chilled,” the Altmer remarked, feeling the cool skin under his fingers. “You should get back in bed.”

“Come with me?” Ryndoril asked, his tone equally hopeful and mischievous. All the awkward feelings seemed to flow right out of Ondolemar, between the soft kisses and that bold question.

“Alright,” he agreed, and allowed the Bosmer to take his hand and pull him back into the bedroom.

“You’ve nothing to be jealous of,” Ryndoril informed him seriously as they both settled back on the bed, Ondolemar making sure Ryndoril was covered with the blankets. “I vastly prefer your company.” Ondolemar gazed at him for a moment, unsure if he was still being taunted, but the Bosmer seemed sincere.

“Then why did you leave?” Ondolemar asked, knowing he sounded a bit like a petulant child but unable to stop the question. Ryndoril smiled, a softer, kinder smile than his usual breathtaking grin, and took the Altmer’s hand.

“They asked me to come,” Ryndoril explained. “I had to see what they wanted.”

“Well, was it important?” Ondolemar insisted.

“Not as important as this,” Ryndoril whispered, wrapping his arms around Ondolemar’s neck and pressing his lips to the Altmer’s. Ondolemar sighed softly into the kiss, and Ryndoril deepened it a little, pulling the other elf’s bottom lip between his teeth and flicking his tongue against it. Ondolemar moaned softly at the sensation and roughly thrust his tongue into Ryndoril’s mouth, devouring the Bosmer.

“Ryn,” Ondolemar murmured breathlessly, pulling back just far enough to see the elf’s face, “you should…rest… _ohh_ ,” he finished with a moan. Ryndoril had brought a hand up into Ondolemar’s hair, caressing his ear with gentle fingers.

“I’ll rest next time we’re apart,” Ryndoril said teasingly, brushing his lips across Ondolemar’s smoothly-shaven chin. He didn’t really care very much that he was a bit tired at the moment; it wasn’t important.

Ondolemar closed his eyes in pleasure at the feathered kisses, the scruffy hair adorning Ryndoril’s face brushing against his skin as the elf continued to stroke along his sensitive ear. He cared little about the embarrassment he’d felt before; all that mattered was that Ryndoril keep doing _that_.

Ryndoril let his hand slide through Ondolemar’s long, golden hair as he brought his lips back to the high elf’s, kissing him gently and pulling away teasingly when Ondolemar tried to deepen it. Ondolemar growled with frustration, and the next thing Ryndoril know, the Altmer’s fingers were tangled in his own hair, pulling him back to a forceful kiss. Ondolemar probed the Bosmer’s mouth with his tongue, reveling in the groan of pleasure erupting from the wood elf’s throat as he stroked the long, pointed ears.

 _He got demanding_ , Ryndoril thought wryly. The Bosmer didn’t mind very much; it only served to stoke the fire in him to burn even hotter. He barely remembered that he’d been cold, and shoved the blankets aside to press himself closer to the Altmer.

“You’re still cold, Ryn,” Ondolemar admonished breathily.

“Then warm me,” Ryndoril murmured, straddling Ondolemar’s legs and cradling his head as he kissed him. Ondolemar lost no time in wrapping his arms around the Bosmer; he could feel the wood elf’s arousal pressed against his own, though his leather trousers were quite restrictive. Ryndoril’s kisses were so intoxicating that he couldn’t care enough to try and remove them at the moment, though.

Ryndoril pulled away from Ondolemar’s lips, kissing up his cheek and letting his lips follow the tips of his fingers as they traced the pointed elven ear.

“Ah, love, I missed you,” Ryndoril sighed against the ear, making Ondolemar shudder.

“Why – oh, _gods_ – why do you call me love?” Ondolemar breathed, interrupting himself as Ryndoril’s tongue flicked inside his ear briefly.

“I needed some nickname for you, didn’t I?” Ryndoril laughed softly, going back to kissing the mer’s cheek and then pulling away, eyes sparkling. “I could use Ondy, if you’d like.” Ondolemar wrinkled his nose; his brother had called him that when they were young, and he’d hated it then, too.

“If you ever call me that, I will throw you naked into the Sea of Ghosts,” Ondolemar said, the threat made far less fierce for the hint of a smile gracing his lips. Ryndoril chuckled.

“Then ‘love’ it is,” he murmured, kissing the mer gently. He noticed no threat came from his use of _that_ nickname.

No words, nicknames or otherwise, were said for a while; both mer simply took their time exploring one another with their lips, shifting and touching and kissing and caressing. Eventually both elves were undressed, pressed together on the bed with the blankets tossed carelessly aside.

Ryndoril pushed Ondolemar down onto his back, kissing down his chin, his neck, across his chest and down his stomach. There was a trail of incredibly fine hair just above his waist, pale gold as the hair on his head, and Ryndoril made a point of trailing his tongue through it as he moved further down. He flicked his tongue gently against Ondolemar’s soft skin, moving sideways now to one hip, then reversing direction to the other. This time he felt an odd marking under his lips and pulled away to look.

He hadn’t really gotten to explore the elf thoroughly before; they were both too impatient, both wanting too much. He’d seen the Altmer had his share of scars; having been in the Great War, that wasn’t surprising. This one, though, placed off to the side of the high elf’s hip – almost to the back – was different. _A.D._ it read, very deliberately marked.

“What’s this?” Ryndoril asked softly, his tone concerned as he traced his fingers over it. Ondolemar stared at him a moment before answering, looking a little unsure.

“Aldmeri Dominion,” he finally murmured. He wondered if Ryndoril might take issue with it.

“Why?” Ryndoril asked, terribly curious.

“Because I am a member of the Thalmor, an agent of the Dominion,” Ondolemar explained, still trying to gauge the Bosmer’s reaction.

“They…just… _marked_ you?” Ryndoril asked, looking quite skeptical. 

“It is a sign of our service,” Ondolemar said. “In accepting the brand, we swear our allegiance and lives to the Dominion.”

“So they brand you,” Ryndoril said, a bit of a smirk on his face. “Like cattle.” Ondolemar frowned at the teasing tone.

“We _accept_ the mark,” he said. “It is an honor.”

“To be property,” Ryndoril teased. Ondolemar shook his head, making a frustrated noise.

“You are impossible.”

“I know,” Ryndoril laughed, leaning down to kiss the mark. “Well, if it’s important to you, then it’s lovely.” Ondolemar rolled his eyes, but had to admit he was pleased; part of him had wondered if Ryndoril would shy away from him for it. He should’ve known better, though; the elf wasn’t the type to shy away from anything, it seemed.

After pressing his lips to the mark of the Aldmeri Dominion, Ryndoril had begun moving back across the Altmer’s body, eventually flicking his tongue against the crease where his leg met the rest of his body. Ondolemar was breathing hard with Ryndoril’s ministrations, and it pleased the Bosmer; he enjoyed making the high elf feel good.

He left gentle licks along that crease, eventually placing a soft kiss on the fine, pale hair that surrounded Ondolemar’s jutting member. He wasn’t surprised the high elf was so eager; he was as well, particularly being in Ondolemar’s presence after a week apart.

Ondolemar was having a hard time forcing himself to keep still; the Bosmer’s soft tongue was making him want to writhe all over the bed. The heated breath caressed his length, teasing him; he’d never had anyone do _that_ before, though he’d heard of it, but Ryndoril seemed quite determined to do it.

Soft, small flicks of the Bosmer’s tongue traveled up his shaft, making him twitch; Ryndoril breathed out a laugh before firmly pressing his lips to the head, and Ondolemar could no longer be still at the captivating warmth of the wood elf’s mouth. 

“Gods,” he whimpered, his fingers clenching in the bed linens. Part of him was saying that this wasn’t fair; the Bosmer had done all the work before, and on top of it he had just had one hell of a day’s travel.

The overwhelming part of him, however, told the rest to be quiet; this felt far too good to protest anything at all.

Ryndoril took his time, seeming to enjoy teasing the Altmer; he alternated long kisses against the head of Ondolemar’s cock with fluttering licks down his shaft and across his sac. 

“Auri-El’s sake, Ryn, stop teasing me,” Ondolemar finally said hoarsely, his need almost painful. Ryndoril laughed against the sensitive skin.

“Demanding, aren’t you?” Ryndoril asked. He found it as amusing as it was arousing, truth be told. He was surprised a moment later when Ondolemar had found his ear, pinching it gently. He let out a startled breath at the bit of pain and immense pleasure it caused.

“Yes,” Ondolemar ground out, staring at the Bosmer. “I am.” Desire stronger than ever shot through Ryndoril at that, and he growled, finally taking all of Ondolemar’s length into his mouth. “Yesss,” Ondolemar hissed, his long fingers remaining gently tangled in Ryndoril’s hair.

The Altmer had never felt anything that was _this_ amazing. He’d been inside female mer, he’d used his own hand and even Ryndoril had used his own talented hand on him before. Taking Ryndoril inside himself the week before had been an incredible and vulnerable feeling, but feeling the Bosmer’s mouth surrounding him…it was like nothing he’d ever experienced. He never wanted it to end.

Ryndoril wondered if the high elf knew of the guttural, needy sounds he was making; whether he knew or not, they were thoroughly exciting the Bosmer. He eagerly took the mer all the way into his mouth; he’d never been with an Altmer this way before, and was mildly astonished at the sheer _length_ of him. Fortunately, Ryndoril had never had trouble with even the largest he’d been with, and easily took the high elf all the way back into his throat. Ondolemar trembled beneath him, the long fingers clenching in the Bosmer’s red hair.

“ _Ryndoril_ ,” Ondolemar whined, choking a little on the word. Ryndoril slid back off of him, keeping his lips firmly wrapped around the Altmer’s shaft, and flicked his tongue against the head again. This was an absolute delight.

Ondolemar thought he might lose his mind very quickly; he knew he’d missed the Bosmer, but there was something else there that he really hadn’t expected. He hadn’t known he _needed_ Ryndoril so desperately again. He’d certainly never felt this way about anyone else he’d slept with, but he simply wanted more of Ryndoril – over and over again.

He writhed in delicious agony as Ryndoril continued to tease him, flicking his tongue gently against the head of his cock before taking every inch of the Altmer down his throat. Ondolemar was bucking his hips up into Ryndoril’s mouth, unable to help himself – gods, it felt so good!

“Ryn, please,” Ondolemar whimpered at one point when Ryndoril had pulled back to tease with his tongue again. “Please…gods…” Ryndoril laughed softly, his eyes dark with need, feeling himself straining as well. He wanted little more than to push himself inside this writhing mer in front of him, but it was far too entertaining to watch him while Ryndoril used his mouth on him. His desperate wriggling, even his begging…

Ryndoril realized what he wanted most in the world right then was to watch Ondolemar lose himself, to give him the pleasure to find his release – and quickly. He abandoned his teasing licks, sliding his tongue along the Altmer’s shaft as he bobbed his head up and down rhythmically, his hand trailing up Ondolemar’s thigh.

“Dammit,” he murmured, pulling off of Ondolemar for a moment. Ondolemar raised his head up, looking dazed, and gazed down at the Bosmer.

“What?” Ondolemar breathed, wishing Ryndoril hadn’t stopped. _Why would he ever stop?_

“Hand me the oil in that drawer, love,” Ryndoril panted. It was proving hard to keep his breathing normal while sucking so enthusiastically on the elf.

Ondolemar forced his muscles to move him, rolling over just slightly enough to slide open the drawer.

“Ungh!” he protested as Ryndoril caressed his sac to keep him occupied, his breathing roughening again. Ryndoril laughed gently as Ondolemar gave him a dirty look, returning to his task and finally tossing the indicated bottle at the Bosmer, not caring if it hit him.

“Thanks, love,” Ryndoril grinned, licking gently at the head of Ondolemar’s cock again. Ondolemar looked murderous; Ryndoril was finding it a lot more fun than he expected to tease the Altmer this way. It was teasing for him, too, though; as much as he wanted to give Ondolemar release, it was making him crazy to wait. He quickly coated two fingers with the oil before settling back into place, his mouth sinking onto Ondolemar in one swift motion and making them both groan.

“Yes, Ryn, _yes_ ,” Ondolemar breathed, his fingers tight in Ryndoril’s hair. Even just the moment away from the Bosmer’s mouth had been far too long, and the relief he felt at being enveloped once more was overwhelming. Ryndoril’s mouth was just so warm, and that wet tongue sliding against him…

He gasped as Ryndoril’s slickened fingers parted his cheeks in search of that tight opening, rubbing against the hole gently for a moment. Divines, it felt good; it served only to remind him of having Ryndoril’s length inside of him a week ago, and he twitched in anticipation. Ryndoril’s free hand clenched his hip, wanting him to be still, and then a finger pushed gently inside.

“Ryn!” Ondolemar cried. The combination of the hot mouth on his cock and the slickened finger pressing inside of him, burning just a little bit as it slid further in, then back out, a second joining it…bliss. Pure bliss.

Two fingers now inside the Altmer, Ryndoril moved, searching for that hard, protruding lump of tissue.

“Ahhh,” Ondolemar groaned, letting Ryndoril know he’d hit it just right. Pressing on it and rubbing gently, he sucked the Altmer all the way into his mouth, down his throat, and just stayed there for a moment. 

Ondolemar didn’t know whether to shove his hips forward into Ryndoril’s mouth, or thrust downward onto Ryndoril’s fingers. The sheer _amount_ of sensation was more than he’d ever felt at one time, and it nearly drove him mad.

Ryndoril glanced up at his lover beneath his eyelashes; his eyes were watering slightly with the way Ondolemar was pulling his hair, but the pleasure on the Altmer’s face made it completely worth it. Suddenly he felt his ear being stroked by long, nimble fingers, urging him on, and he forgot to even think; he drew his mouth back, wriggling his fingers just right, before pulling them out as he plunged his mouth back down onto Ondolemar’s length. 

The Altmer was crying out incoherently now, begging for “more, please, _more_ ,” and Ryndoril was all too happy to oblige. Every time he pulled his head back, his fingers thrust into Ondolemar, stroking where he needed to. He kept up this rhythm, consistency his goal more than speed, and it wasn’t long before he felt Ondolemar clamp around his fingers as he cried out hoarsely.

Ryndoril was slightly surprised to find his head held down against the mer, but as he’d most certainly planned on drinking the elf down anyway, he didn’t mind. The hand holding him didn’t release its pressure until Ondolemar’s cock stopped twitching in Ryndoril’s mouth. The Bosmer gently pulled his fingers out of the other elf, giving one last, long lick to his shaft before getting to his knees and licking his lips. He hadn’t left a single drop on the Altmer to clean up.

Ondolemar was trembling as he lay there, his mind quite blank as he fought to control his breathing. Ryndoril smiled at the sight of the sated elf spread before him, and set his hands gently on the Altmer’s thighs.

“Enjoy that?” he asked softly. Ondolemar’s eyes blinked as though trying to focus on where he even was.

“Gods,” the Altmer breathed. “Ryn…” Ryndoril laughed softly, stroking Ondolemar’s thigh and then moving to lie down beside him. He kissed the Altmer’s cheek.

“I’ll assume you’ve never done that before,” Ryndoril said cheekily, his voice a little thick from Ondolemar’s seed.

“No,” Ondolemar murmured, his satisfied eyes gazing up at the Bosmer, a small, relaxed smile on his face. “Kiss me.”

“You sure?” Ryndoril asked, arching an eyebrow. While some people didn’t mind, others found the idea of kissing so soon after such an act rather repulsive.

“Please,” Ondolemar whispered, and Ryndoril could, of course, deny him nothing. He leaned down and gently kissed the Altmer, and Ondolemar pressed his tongue between the Bosmer’s lips. Ryndoril let him, deciding if that’s what he wanted, he might as well go for it. He pulled away a moment later, looking faintly surprised.

“Not what you expected?” Ryndoril smirked, his hand lazily caressing Ondolemar’s chest.

“I…I didn’t think about it,” Ondolemar confessed. “That’s what I taste like?” Ryndoril grinned fully at that.

“Mmhmm,” he nodded, pressing another gentle kiss to Ondolemar’s skin, this time at the corner of the Altmer’s mouth. “Delicious.” Ondolemar let out a bewildered laugh.

“You’re amazing,” the Altmer said, his eyes fluttering as they tried to stay open.

“You’re going to fall asleep,” Ryndoril laughed, reaching for the blanket he’d cast aside. Ondolemar frowned, struggling to keep his eyes open anyway.

“But you,” he said, motioning to the need still showing between Ryndoril’s legs. Ryndoril gave him a kind smile, pressing a clean finger to his lips.

“I’ll be fine,” Ryndoril murmured. “We have time.” It was true, he did feel quite needy – impossible not to after the reactions of the elf beside him – but he himself was rather tired and he knew they’d both be likely to have more fun after a bit of rest. 

“I want to please you,” Ondolemar mumbled, already falling toward sleep.

“I’m sure you will,” Ryndoril smirked, enjoying the thought. “But for now, go to sleep.”

“Alright,” Ondolemar agreed, and very soon was quiet in the Bosmer’s embrace.

 _By the Eight, he’s beautiful_ , Ryndoril couldn’t help thinking. Thankful that the Altmer hadn’t actually touched him and gotten him overexcited, he managed to calm down enough that he could sleep as well.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryndoril and Ondolemar explore each other a bit more, eventually getting into a discussion of their pasts.

Ondolemar woke sometime later, pleased to find Ryndoril’s arms around him and further pleased to find the Bosmer was warm and clearly comfortable. This was quickly becoming his preferred way to wake up.

The mere memory of what had happened earlier to put Ondolemar to sleep was nearly intoxicating; he shuddered at just the remembrance of Ryndoril’s talented mouth. He hadn’t ever thought such a thing could feel so utterly delicious.

He felt genuinely guilty for having fallen asleep; he really couldn’t help it, it was just something that happened after such a release, but he wanted badly to please the Bosmer. After all the pleasure Ryndoril had given him so far, he needed to return the favor.

That alone was odd. Ondolemar was nearly always content to take and not give much of anything in return. But as with everything else recently, it seemed, Ryndoril changed that. As far as Ondolemar was concerned, the change was for the better.

But only with the wood elf, of course; only because of the kindness, the gentleness, the sweetness with which the Bosmer treated him. Only because no one else had ever induced such feelings in Ondolemar…nor would they, he was sure. And only for this did the Bosmer deserve his gratitude, his friendship…his caring.

Ondolemar turned on the bed; Ryndoril’s arm stayed draped over his side, but now he faced the Bosmer properly, could see him well. He brought a long-fingered hand up to trail over the lovely face; even in his sleep, Ryndoril smiled slightly. Ondolemar ran his fingers over the skin, marred a bit on one cheek by a small scar but otherwise untouched. The scruff of his trimmed beard was pleasant to touch; softer than Ondolemar would have expected just to look at it. He himself shaved every week, keeping his face clean; most of the Altmer did, or at least the higher-ranking ones, because to let oneself go in such a way was to look unkempt, unclean, and not higher-born.

On Ryndoril, though, the unkempt air it gave was inviting, enthralling. Somehow beautiful in its own way. The red hair, too, was an intrigue; the best-bred Altmer had pale hair, ranging from white to golden hues like his own. Red hair was a rarity, generally resulting from those who had tainted the Altmer blood by mating with other races. But on the Bosmer in front of him…Ondolemar found it quite handsome.

He brushed a strand of the red hair away from Ryndoril’s face, bringing his fingers back to stroke the Bosmer’s cheek, brushing across his lips. What lovely lips they were, particularly as talented as Ondolemar now knew them to be. He wanted to kiss them, but was sure that would wake the Bosmer; after such a trying day, the elf deserved to sleep as he wanted.

When the Altmer’s long fingers traced over the red-haired elf’s brow, however, the Bosmer shifted slightly, sighing pleasantly as his eyes flickered open. He smiled at Ondolemar.

“Hi,” he murmured sleepily.

“Hello,” Ondolemar replied, smiling a little at the curious nature of such a greeting. They’d already been together for the afternoon, had they not? But it was so like Ryndoril that he simply found it endearing.

“Nice nap?” Ryndoril asked, his eyes closing again as Ondolemar resumed his exploratory touches.

“Mmm. Nice enough. How are you feeling?”

“Great,” Ryndoril grinned, his eyes opening again. He stretched luxuriously, the blanket falling off him, and Ondolemar felt a stirring of desire at seeing the elf so casually displaying himself. “Much better.” He noticed Ondolemar staring and smirked. “Like what you see?”

“You’re the one putting yourself on display,” Ondolemar snorted, though his ears reddened a little.

“Maybe I _want_ you to like what you see,” Ryndoril grinned, sinking back down onto the bed with a relaxed sigh. “Gods, it’s good to be home.” He reached a hand out to Ondolemar, picking up a section of the golden hair and running it between his fingers. “You’re very quiet.”

Ondolemar looked at Ryndoril then, feeling just a tingle of pleasure from the gentle feeling of the Bosmer’s fingers in his hair. He was feeling slightly confused, just a bit unsure of what to say.

He still wanted very much to bring Ryndoril pleasure; more than simply reciprocating, he wanted to make the elf _happy_. And yet…he had no real idea of how to go about starting such a thing. His brief liaisons with female Altmer had generally been uncomfortable enough to struggle through, but never had he been given experience in trying to seduce a male. He concluded, however, that there was little purpose in being less than forthright; the Bosmer himself was nothing if not frank.

“I would like very much to return your earlier affections,” Ondolemar confessed, his voice quiet as he couldn’t make himself meet the Bosmer’s eyes, no matter how courageous he tried to tell himself he was. “But I…” he trailed off, no longer able to go on. Ryndoril laughed, and Ondolemar looked up at him anxiously only to see kindness sparkling in the brown eyes, and not judgment or malice.

“That’s alright, love,” Ryndoril grinned, leaning over and kissing the Altmer’s forehead. It was so endearing, how unsure this normally-assured elf was with such a thing. Ryndoril knew, too, that it cost him a great deal – and a great amount of trust – to allow him to speak so freely in front of the Bosmer, and he was grateful for it. “Believe me, being around you is enough to get me going,” he added cheekily. Ondolemar relaxed into a huff of a laugh, which had been Ryndoril’s intent.

“You confound me,” Ondolemar admitted, unsure why he was expressing such a thought, letting it slip between his lips anyway.

“Why’s that?” Ryndoril asked curiously, his fingers ceaselessly stroking the bit of Ondolemar’s hair he held onto.

“I have never met a person as forthright as you,” Ondolemar said wryly. “You think something, and you say it. You do not hold yourself impassively as my kin.”

“Neither do you, when you’ve had enough to drink,” Ryndoril teased.

“Like that,” Ondolemar said, rolling his eyes. “You do not wait and calculate the perfect thing to say…you simply speak what you are thinking. It is most…odd.” Ryndoril had to laugh again at that.

“Yeah, I’ve always had a bit of a problem with my mouth running faster than my brain. My aunt always got on me for it, but by the Eight, she was worse,” Ryndoril grinned.

“So this is some strange Bosmer trait, is it?” Ondolemar asked, amused.

“Oh, believe me, it isn’t exclusive to Bosmer,” Ryndoril snorted. “I’ve met plenty others with the same problem. But I guess I could say the same about you,” he added teasingly. “I can’t imagine pausing to think over my words for every sentence.”

“Yes, well, you’ve no reason to,” Ondolemar said. “ _You_ have no dignity to protect.” Ryndoril stared at him for a moment with wide eyes before he burst out laughing.

“I do believe you’re teasing me,” Ryndoril accused, letting Ondolemar’s hair go and trailing his hand down the Altmer’s arm. Ondolemar smiled smugly.

“Perhaps,” he acknowledged. Ryndoril shook his head, highly amused, and drew the Altmer’s lips to his own.

“So that’s the problem, hmm?” Ryndoril murmured as he pulled away, already tingling just from the gentle kiss. “You’re too dignified to simply say what you’re thinking?” Ondolemar frowned.

“Yes,” he said, and there was no small amount of frustration in his tone. Ryndoril cocked his head curiously at this, raising up to support himself on his elbow.

“You don’t like it?” Ryndoril wondered. “Calculating your words.”

“It feels a bit…limiting, sometimes,” Ondolemar said. “Perhaps I would occasionally like to speak my mind just as you do.” Ryndoril smiled, catching the Altmer’s fine hair again.

“Then do it,” Ryndoril suggested.

“You say that as if it’s easy,” Ondolemar sighed. His eyes flickered back to the Bosmer’s face, thinking of what he’d like to say right then, and then reddened at the thought, unable to do it.

“It is easy,” Ryndoril said softly, his voice earnest. “Don’t you trust me, Ondolemar?” Ondolemar considered this question. Yes, he did trust the Bosmer – very much. He had little reason not to, of course…and he couldn’t deny the attraction the wood elf held for him.

“I do,” Ondolemar admitted. 

“Then tell me what you’re thinking about, this very moment,” Ryndoril insisted. When Ondolemar was still silent, he went on. “You don’t have to hide anything from me, you know,” he murmured, staring into Ondolemar’s green eyes.

“I want to kiss you,” Ondolemar blurted out, not giving himself time to process the words. The grin that split Ryndoril’s face was massive, and before Ondolemar could even think to take the words back, the Bosmer’s lips were on his own. He was still grinning when he pulled back.

“See?” he said teasingly. “That’s just the kind of thing I want to know you’re thinking.”

“Except that isn’t what I said,” Ondolemar smirked, feeling a bit bolder at Ryndoril’s generous touch. “I said _I_ wanted to kiss _you_. Not have _you_ devour me like an untamed animal.” Desire sparked in Ryndoril’s eyes.

“Is that so?” he asked, his voice a little huskier. “I didn’t hear any protests about devouring you earlier…” Ondolemar reddened at that, and it was Ryndoril’s turn to smirk. The expression annoyed Ondolemar as much as it aroused him, and he leaned in to press his lips gently to the Bosmer’s, the long-fingered hand pulling the red head closer to him.

“You really do have a terrible mouth on you,” Ondolemar murmured a few moments later as they pulled apart, noticing the pleasure in Ryndoril’s dark eyes.

“I think you like my terrible mouth,” Ryndoril countered, his voice barely a breath as they stayed close together. Ondolemar smiled at that; indeed, he did enjoy it.

“I…” Ondolemar paused, and swallowed, feeling a little anxious again. Ryndoril’s fingers stroked the back of his head reassuringly, and it gave him the courage. “I would very much like to please you, Ryn. As you did for me.”

Ryndoril felt himself start to harden a bit at that; Divines, what a thing to hear! And the flash of an image through his mind about that golden-haired head between his legs…

“You don’t have to ask me twice,” Ryndoril said, his tone amused but his voice husky. 

Ondolemar leaned in for a harsher kiss than before this time, pushing Ryndoril down onto his back. He pulled away, realizing he was towering over Ryndoril; the feeling gave him a small rush of power, and he smiled.

Soon he was kissing Ryndoril all over, from his scruffy chin up to his pointed ears. Ryndoril’s panting breaths urged him on, making him want to keep going. The Altmer grew bolder, moving down Ryndoril’s neck and to his chest, peppering kisses across the smooth skin while his fingers trailed behind. Something about being in charge was giving him more confidence than before; he _liked_ this.

Ryndoril was feeling needy in a way he rarely did. Most times in the past he’d been more of a giver than a receiver of attentions, and _never_ in the past had he felt about one of his partners as he did about this elf. To feel those beautiful, smooth lips on his skin, those long-fingered hands trailing over his body – it was perfect.

Ondolemar rubbed over a nipple with one finger, and Ryndoril sighed with pleasure. He wasn’t as sensitive there as the Altmer seemed to be, but it was nonetheless enjoyable. The high elf’s tongue swiftly followed his touch, and the wet warmth made Ryndoril moan softly, bringing his fingers up to tangle in Ondolemar’s long hair.

“Ondolemar,” he breathed contentedly. The wet tongue flicked over his nipple again before moving to the other one, giving it the same treatment. Ryndoril gently scratched his fingers along Ondolemar’s scalp, encouraging the mer. Eventually, though, Ondolemar pulled back, looking up at Ryndoril with anxious, though lustful, eyes

“Is this…is this right?” Ondolemar asked, his breathy voice a little desperate. Ryndoril laughed softly, moving his fingers under the long hair until he found a pointed ear. He stroked it gently so the Altmer’s eyes fluttered shut.

“Stop thinking so much,” Ryndoril said, his tone reassuring. “I’m no virgin being bedded for the first time. I’ll _tell_ you if you ought to be doing something else.”

Thus reassured, Ondolemar leaned in for a kiss again, his tongue sliding along Ryndoril’s lips as the hand that wasn’t supporting him found the Bosmer’s pointed ear. Ryndoril shuddered slightly at the contact, his own tongue becoming more bold as he pressed it against Ondolemar’s.

Their fevered kisses increased in urgency as Ondolemar’s hand made its way to Ryndoril’s length; wrapping his long fingers around the Bosmer, he started to stroke, wrenching a shuddering moan from Ryndoril. Ondolemar couldn’t help it; he grinned.

“That it?” he asked, twitching his thumb to rub over the head of the Bosmer’s hardened length. There was already a bit of moisture there; clearly, Ryndoril had been thoroughly enjoying himself thus far. It was a slightly strange experience for Ondolemar; he’d touched himself plenty of times, but never had he touched anyone else like this. It was thrilling in a way, and even more so with the look he brought to the Bosmer’s face as his fingers moved around the length in his hand. 

“Oh, _yes_ , love,” Ryndoril breathed. The smooth, long-fingered hand around him was incredible; he’d never gotten so much pleasure simply from someone’s _hand_ before. Ondolemar shifted slightly, keeping his slow-moving grip on Ryndoril, and the next thing the Bosmer knew, gentle fingers were trailing along his sensitive ear as Ondolemar’s tongue forced its way into his mouth.

He whimpered into the kiss under the onslaught of sensation; clearly, the Altmer knew what he was doing, self-consciousness aside! Before he knew he was doing it, Ryndoril started thrusting his hips up into the high elf’s grip, needing to feel more.

Ondolemar pulled away from Ryndoril’s kiss-reddened lips and stopped stroking his ear, stilling the hand on his length as well. Ryndoril made a frustrated noise as he opened his eyes to look up at the mer, not realizing he’d closed them.

“By the Eight, why would you _stop_?” Ryndoril whimpered desperately, trying to thrust into Ondolemar’s grip again. Ondolemar smiled, squeezing him gently and making the Bosmer twitch.

“Because I want to give you more yet,” Ondolemar said softly, his eyes gentle but determined. He was damn well going to give the Bosmer every bit of what he’d been treated to, even if he didn’t exactly know how yet. Ryndoril smiled in return, looking a bit dazed but rather pleased at the idea. He kissed Ondolemar’s lips softly.

“You’re giving me plenty,” Ryndoril murmured, squeezing his fingers in the Altmer’s hair to emphasize his sincerity. “I’m doubting your claims about never being with a male before.” Ondolemar snorted.

“You flatter me,” he said dryly. “But I am no virgin either, whether or not I’ve been with a male. I still know _how_ to give pleasure…and it isn’t that hard to translate.” Ryndoril chuckled at that.

“Then by all means, love, keep going,” Ryndoril said. “Show me your talents.” Ondolemar started to feel a bit cocky at that; well, if he was already making the elf feel _this_ good…

The Altmer brushed his lips against the corner of Ryndoril’s mouth before pushing himself to his knees and settling between the Bosmer’s legs. Ryndoril easily moved to accommodate the larger elf there, quite excited about what was to come.

Ondolemar made a great show of kissing his way down Ryndoril’s chest, enjoying the way he could make the Bosmer squirm and loving the simple taste of his skin. It was clean and crisp; no doubt the time spent in the rushing water of the river had cleaned him up. Ondolemar flicked his tongue briefly when he reached Ryndoril’s bellybutton, causing the Bosmer to squirm and shout out a laugh.

“Ondolemar, that tickles,” he said, swatting at the Altmer with a breathless chuckle. Ondolemar continued to flick his tongue in the same obviously-sensitive spot, enjoying the squirming Bosmer. “Ondolemar!”

“Yes?” Ondolemar smirked, glancing up at Ryndoril’s face. Gods, but he loved that grin.

“Stop tickling me,” Ryndoril said, shaking his head.

“No,” Ondolemar said, returning to what he’d been doing and bringing his hands up to hold the Bosmer still.

“Ahh!” Ryndoril cackled, unable to stop himself. “Ondolemar…stop!” Finally Ondolemar laughed and pulled away, kissing the Bosmer’s chest gently before gazing up at him. “You’re evil.”

“I can be,” Ondolemar agreed with a smug grin. He returned to his original task, kissing the Bosmer’s skin until he reached the hard length. He paused for a moment, not entirely sure what to do; he knew what had felt good to him, but it was a bit daunting to contemplate, never having done it before.

“Hey,” Ryndoril said softly, a hand finding Ondolemar’s hair again and stroking it gently. “Don’t think about it so much. Just take your time – you’ll do alright.” Ridiculous as the Bosmer’s reassurance sounded, Ondolemar was incredibly grateful for it. He realized Ryndoril was right, and he’d just have to do what felt natural. He tried to think and remember what the Bosmer had done to him earlier; it was hard, as the memory felt a bit hazy. 

He tentatively flicked his tongue out across the tip of Ryndoril’s length, noting the slightly odd taste of the bit of moisture there. It was interesting, though, and it made him want to try it again; he ran his tongue along the head a little longer this time, and heard Ryndoril groan as the Bosmer’s fingers clenched in his hair.

“Yes, love,” Ryndoril murmured encouragingly, fighting to keep his composure. It took a lot of restraint to not force the Altmer’s hot mouth down onto him; he wanted little more than that, but he had to be patient and let Ondolemar get used to what he was doing. It just felt so _good_ … “Ah!”

“What?” Ondolemar asked anxiously, pulling back; he’d started to take the Bosmer into his mouth when he’d shouted. Ryndoril looked down at him with a small smile.

“Be careful of the teeth, love,” he said. Ondolemar’s teeth had grazed him a little, and though it hadn’t been _that_ painful yet, it had been enough pressure to make him take notice. Ondolemar frowned.

“Sorry,” he said, feeling his ears and cheeks redden.

“It’s alright,” Ryndoril said reassuringly, stroking the Altmer’s hair again. “Don’t worry about it. Just be a little careful with them, alright?” Ondolemar nodded and wrapped his lips around the Bosmer once again, taking him into his mouth and carefully avoiding grazing his teeth over the length. “Oh…oh _yes_ , love,” Ryndoril moaned. “That’s it.”

It was more difficult than Ondolemar expected, holding his jaw open at such a width; it was an incredibly unnatural position, as the Bosmer was rather thick, and he was trying to be very careful to keep his teeth out of the way. It was clear how much Ryndoril was enjoying it, though, and so it was made a little easier by the fact that he was bringing pleasure to his lover. He liked that feeling.

Ondolemar could feel Ryndoril’s knees trembling on either side of him, even as the Bosmer choked out encouragement. He finally had most of the wood elf in his mouth; remembering how it had felt to have Ryndoril’s throat constricting around him, he pushed on, pressing as far onto the Bosmer as he could.

A moment later he pulled back swiftly, choking; how could the Bosmer have managed such a thing? That was damned impossible!

“You alright, love?” Ryndoril asked breathlessly, looking at Ondolemar’s bewildered face.

“Y-yes,” Ondolemar coughed, feeling far from aroused at the moment himself. “Gods. How in Nirn do you…?”

“Practice,” Ryndoril said with a slight laugh and a kind smile. “Don’t worry. You don’t have to do it that way. It takes a bit of time to get used to.”

Ondolemar was very red in the face; what an idiot he must look, he thought. Though he was no virgin, he was certainly acting like one now!

“Hey,” Ryndoril said kindly, sitting up properly and reaching for Ondolemar’s hand, squeezing his fingers. “Look, don’t get too worked up about it. It just takes some time to get used to. I certainly don’t mind letting you practice.”

“I am acting like some inexperienced young mer,” Ondolemar said bitterly, though he was grateful for Ryndoril’s kindness.

“Well, you _are_ inexperienced with this,” Ryndoril said gently. “That’s okay, you know. You’re allowed to be. I really don’t mind.” Ondolemar sighed, shaking his head before he turned to look at the Bosmer again. He started to feel a bit guilty; he’d gotten the wood elf aroused and excited, and now he was dwelling in self-pity.

“You’re awfully understanding,” Ondolemar said, shaking his head at the wood elf.

“That’s because I like you,” Ryndoril grinned, and Ondolemar cracked a smile as well. Ryndoril laughed and brought a hand up to caress Ondolemar’s cheek. “Really, love. Don’t worry so much about it. I’m hardly going to judge you or anything.” Ondolemar closed his eyes and leaned into the Bosmer’s touch.

“I just want to do this properly,” Ondolemar confessed quietly. “I want to…I want to give you everything.” His face heated further as he said it, but he was trying to be a little more open around Ryndoril.

“Ondolemar,” Ryndoril said seriously, and the Altmer opened his eyes to look into Ryndoril’s kind gaze. “Do you have any idea how much I’m enjoying letting you explore me?” Ondolemar rolled his eyes; clearly the elf was trying to humor him. “I’m serious!” Ryndoril protested. “Look, you want to do this all afternoon…please, go right ahead.” At Ondolemar’s slight smile, Ryndoril pulled him in for a deep kiss, falling back to the bed and pulling the high elf with him.

Quite encouraged, Ondolemar pressed on, settling back between the Bosmer’s legs. Ryndoril had softened a bit while they talked, but stiffened up again at the touch of Ondolemar’s tongue.

Ryndoril was soon squirming under Ondolemar’s tentative, exploring ministrations. It was rather different from anything he was used to; he typically had more experienced partners, but somehow this was far superior. The simple knowledge that it was Ondolemar’s lips surrounding him made it so much better than anything he’d ever known.

With Ryndoril’s panting cries, Ondolemar got a little braver; careful to keep his teeth out of the way, he began to experiment with different angles of his mouth, different strokes of his tongue, and different pressures. He found that as he persisted, it became a little easier not to gag with the Bosmer’s length at the back of his throat, and every time he started to take the wood elf a little deeper the moans got louder.

Ondolemar felt himself becoming quite aroused at Ryndoril’s obvious pleasure; this was starting to be rather fun. It wasn’t long before the wood elf’s cries started to sound a little more desperate, and Ondolemar wanted to satisfy that desperation. He again tried to remember what Ryndoril had done for him, but realized that as enticing as the idea of touching the Bosmer from the inside was, he didn’t really want to interrupt the goings-on of the moment to find the discarded oil. He would have to simply continue with his mouth, and hope he was doing it properly.

Ryndoril’s frantic breathing and tensing muscles told him that he was, indeed.

“Love…yes…there…oh gods,” Ryndoril panted, his voice strained. “I’m going to…oh gods… _Ondolemar_!” The Altmer felt the Bosmer’s fingers tighten in his hair, practically forcing his head to stay where it was; he didn’t really mind, and the idea that Ryndoril couldn’t help himself for the pleasure was enticing as well. 

Ryndoril’s cries had become incoherent moans and a breath later, Ondolemar felt the Bosmer’s sticky seed erupting into his mouth. He started to choke, not expecting the feeling, but managed to keep himself still – though it didn’t seem the Bosmer was going to let go for anything anyway.

Finally, though, Ryndoril seemed to have emptied himself and Ondolemar pulled his head back at the Bosmer’s loosened grip. He swallowed a bit and then coughed; the fluid was thicker than he expected and though it didn’t taste _bad_ , exactly, it was just different enough to be utterly _strange_.

“Oh gods,” Ryndoril breathed, almost a whimper. “Ondolemar…” The Altmer looked up to see a fully-sated smile gracing the Bosmer’s face. He couldn’t help it – he smiled, too.

“Well?” Ondolemar inquired, remaining between Ryndoril’s legs as he gazed up at the wood elf. Ryndoril laughed.

“That was amazing,” Ryndoril assured him, sinking limply into the feather-stuffed bed. “Gods, love.”

“Well, I’m good at what I do,” Ondolemar said smugly, making Ryndoril breathe out another chuckle.

“Cocky,” Ryndoril said, shaking his head. He reached for the Altmer’s hand, encouraging him to move up and lie next to the Bosmer. Once he did, Ryndoril settled his head on Ondolemar’s shoulder, his arm flung over the other mer’s torso, utterly content. “You alright? I should’ve given you more warning.”

“I’m fine,” Ondolemar said. “It was just…not quite what I expected.” He attempted to clear his throat again, though the effort didn’t do a lot.

“You get used to it,” Ryndoril laughed. They lay there in contented silence for a little while after that, each enjoying the other’s company until Ryndoril’s stomach growled, prompting them to get dressed and find something to eat.

They talked a bit as they both helped to prepare a chicken stew for dinner; to Ryndoril’s surprise, Ondolemar turned out to be handy when it came to cooking.

“Why so shocked?” Ondolemar smirked. “I’m hardly a pampered prince.”

“Maybe not,” Ryndoril teased, “but you can still act like one.” Ondolemar gave him a dirty look, and Ryndoril shoved him playfully; the Altmer shoved back, and Ryndoril started to laugh. Ondolemar rolled his eyes but couldn’t help cracking a smile as well; it was just so enjoyable to be around this Bosmer.

As they sat down to eat, Ryndoril started to tell Ondolemar about the task he’d been given by the Companions. He’d had to go clear out a bandit camp, so it was quite the thrilling story.

“Finally I got to the chief’s quarters,” Ryndoril said, wrapping up his story. “They always hide away while the rest of their men fight and get taken down.”

“Of course,” Ondolemar snorted. “They’re men.” He was really enjoying Ryndoril’s story; it made him long for the days when he’d been out fighting once in a while instead of stuck in the Keep day in and day out.

“Not all men are cowards,” Ryndoril said fairly. “But these do tend to be. So I spot him before he notices me, I’ve got my bow ready, and _bam_!” He slammed his hand down on the table, making Ondolemar jump, and smirked a little. “Out of nowhere, this skeever jumps on me! Bites the hell out of my arm, gets the attention of the bandit chief, and so he comes after me.” He enjoyed the enraptured look on Ondolemar’s face; it was almost like telling a story to a child.

“So you’re fighting the skeever and the bandit chief now?” Ondolemar asked, his voice slightly hushed.

“Right,” Ryndoril nodded. “I throw down my bow and pull out my sword; I cut the head off the skeever in one, but the bandit’s already got a hit in. I’m winded, but my armor took the heaviest part of the blow. I throw a jet of flame at him and stagger him, and then _wham_! I shove my sword through his heart while he’s distracted. I’d woken him up, see, so he wasn’t even in his armor.”

“Incredible,” Ondolemar murmured, shaking his head slightly. “Simply incredible. That you were able to deal with all six of them on your own.”

“It was just lucky for me that they weren’t all together,” Ryndoril chuckled.

“You tell amazing stories, Ryn,” Ondolemar admitted. He’d loved listening to every bit of Ryndoril’s most recent adventure.

“Maybe I’ll drag you along with me one of these days,” Ryndoril teased. A look of longing came over Ondolemar’s face.

“Would you really?” he asked, then caught himself with a swift shake of his head. “Ah, apologies. I’m being ridiculous. I cannot leave the city for something like that.” Ryndoril felt his heart clench a little at that; he wanted very much to drag the obviously-bored Altmer away for such an adventure. But he knew the other mer was right, at least for now.

“Maybe one day,” Ryndoril repeated with a small smile. They’d finished eating then and after clearing up, Ryndoril pulled two bottles of wine off the shelf. “I’m out of the good stuff, I’m afraid,” he said. “I’ll have to make a trip to Solitude soon.”

“Quite alright,” Ondolemar nodded, taking the proffered bottle. It had been such a nice day, he thought; he was immensely glad he’d chosen to go for a ride before and happen upon Ryndoril.

“Come on, let’s go back in where it’s comfortable,” Ryndoril suggested with a grin, motioning toward the bedroom. Ondolemar saw nothing wrong with this plan and so began to follow the Bosmer when suddenly there was a knock at the door.

They shared a perplexed look at one another; neither of Ryndoril’s housecarls would knock, so who else would it be?

“Go on in, I’ll be right there,” Ryndoril smiled, squeezing the Altmer’s arm. Ondolemar nodded and headed into the bedroom while Ryndoril went to get the door. His stomach sank when he opened it to find Ondolemar’s guards standing outside, looking cross.

“Is Master Ondolemar still here?” one of them spoke at once. Ryndoril’s face hardened.

“Yes, he is,” the Bosmer replied coolly. He was enjoying his time with the Altmer, and though it was selfish, he didn’t want to let him leave. Besides that, he knew Ondolemar was enjoying himself, and that happened far too little to simply let the opportunity pass.

“May we see him?” the other guard snapped as though Ryndoril were being insolent.

“No, you may not,” Ryndoril said firmly. “He’s sleeping,” he added, though it was a lie. He hoped the mer would forgive him.

“Then wake him,” the first guard said. Ryndoril had no idea which was which, and didn’t much care. “He has duties to attend to, which he has neglected nearly all day.”

“Whatever he needs to deal with will still be there in the morning,” Ryndoril said. “I’m not making him leave right now when he’s relaxed for a change. Perhaps you should consider your superior’s needs occasionally,” he added, a hint of anger creeping into his tone.

“He _needs_ to do his job,” the second guard said.

“Look,” Ryndoril interrupted before he could go on. “I’ll make sure Ondolemar gets back to the Keep in the morning. There’s no sense making him come back tonight and start on anything so late. I will tell him you were here, but I refuse to make him leave right now.”

“And why are we supposed to believe you’re not keeping him here against his will?” the first guard spat, thoroughly angry now.

“He’s the one who chose to follow me here earlier,” Ryndoril said bluntly. 

“And because I am telling you,” Ondolemar interrupted, his voice nearly as angry as his guard. Ryndoril turned to him anxiously; would the Altmer be angry with _him_? “Cyndil, Rolain, return to the Keep. In the future, do not question me or my business, am I understood?”

“But my lord – “

“But nothing,” Ondolemar growled. “Do as I said. I do not have to answer to either of you; I suggest you start remembering that. Am I clear?”

“Yes, my lord,” the two elves replied, annoyed but clearly knowing better than to disobey. Ondolemar reached over Ryndoril to slam the door.

“I’m sorry,” Ryndoril said at once, turning to the Altmer and finding himself in a tight embrace.

“It was very kind of you to stand up for me that way, Ryn,” Ondolemar murmured gratefully. He’d heard everything the Bosmer said, attempting to shield him from having to go back to his duties. “Thank you.”

“Well, it’s all true,” Ryndoril said, glad the mer didn’t seem to mind. “You work hard all the time. I’m not going to interrupt you being happy for a change.”

“They were right,” Ondolemar sighed, pulling away from Ryndoril and staring moodily at the door. “I shouldn’t have neglected my duties all day long.”

“Maybe not, but it’s not going to be the end of the world,” Ryndoril said firmly, taking the Altmer’s hand before he could decide to run out and go with his guards. “Leaving it until morning is not going to matter. Please…just enjoy tonight.” Ondolemar couldn’t help a brief smile at that.

“And how could I not, in the pleasure of such company?” the Altmer said fondly. The guilt he felt, that he knew he should feel, was so greatly diminished in the Bosmer’s embrace that it barely counted for anything. He knew better than to neglect his job, but a night spent in the arms of his lover was certainly not going to jeopardize him.

In any case, there was no way he could make himself leave when faced with the grin that lit up the Bosmer’s face at his statement.

“I am sorry that they came here to bother you, though,” Ondolemar lamented. “They should never have done that.”

“Well, to be fair, if I _were_ holding you against your will…you’d wish they had come,” Ryndoril teased. Ondolemar snorted.

“They should not question me,” Ondolemar said. “I told them earlier I’d return when I wished to.”

“Well, they’re gone now,” Ryndoril grinned; he was thrilled now that the rest of the night promised to be filled with Ondolemar’s presence. “So let’s go enjoy our wine, yeah?”

“A brilliant plan,” Ondolemar smiled. Part of him began to wonder about the possibility of such a thing as this all the time; returning home from work, not sleeping where he worked, and spending the evening with his lover.

Ridiculous and far-fetched as such an idea was, he had to admit he enjoyed it.

“You still look worried,” Ryndoril commented after they’d sat down on the bed, side by side and hands clasped together.

“I can’t help it,” Ondolemar sighed. “I’m not…not _used_ to this.”

“To having an evening to simply do as you please?” Ryndoril smiled, squeezing the Altmer’s fingers. “Well, you’ll just have to get used to it because I fully intend to make sure it happens occasionally.”

“I know,” Ondolemar nodded, but when his face failed to relax, Ryndoril leaned over to kiss him softly. Ondolemar’s expression softened into a smile then.

“Let’s just talk about something else, get your mind off it again,” Ryndoril suggested. “You have plenty of time to think about work later.”

“You’re right,” Ondolemar nodded. “What about your family? You’ve mentioned that you lived with your aunt before coming to Skyrim,” he added, curious about the Bosmer’s past and wanting to focus on something else entirely.

“I did,” Ryndoril nodded, leaning back against the wall and over against Ondolemar. The Altmer put his arm around the Bosmer, making him grin. “For several years, in fact. Learned everything I know about alchemy from her, actually.”

“What of the rest of your family?” Ondolemar asked. “I know you mentioned they passed on, but what happened?”

Ryndoril frowned slightly; it wasn’t something he typically liked to discuss, and no one had ever been forthright enough to ask it of him before. With Ondolemar, though…he knew the Altmer would understand. It was never hard to talk to him.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Ondolemar went on when Ryndoril was quiet. “My apologies. I don’t mean to pry.”

“No, it’s alright,” Ryndoril said with a small smile. “You’re curious. But let’s make it a fair deal – I’ll tell you what happened to me if you tell me what happened to your family?”

“Fair indeed,” Ondolemar nodded, though he didn’t particularly enjoy the idea. It really was only fair, though; the Bosmer had every right to be just as curious as he was.

“Alright,” Ryndoril said. In any case, he was sure it wouldn’t be so bad to discuss with the warm comfort of Ondolemar’s embrace. “I lived in Valenwood with my mother, my father, and my older sister. My family was supportive of the Dominion, unlike several in the area.”

“There were Bosmer near you that did not support the Dominion?” Ondolemar asked, clearly surprised. “I was under the impression there were very few who took such a stance.”

“Maybe they were all centered around us, then,” Ryndoril snorted. “I don’t really know. When I was about seventeen, I had only just started learning about all of it myself. One night…we were visited.”

“They decided to move against you?” Ondolemar asked in shock, squeezing Ryndoril a bit tighter. “Their own kin?”

“Oh, no,” Ryndoril said grimly. “They wouldn’t have done that. But nothing stopped them telling the Imperial Legion all about us. It was a dozen Imperial soldiers.” He paused, the memories of the night overwhelming him.

“What happened?” Ondolemar prompted gently, his hand soothingly rubbing Ryndoril’s arm.

“They killed my parents,” Ryndoril said quietly. “They questioned them, and after confessing their support for the Dominion, the soldiers killed them. My sister and I were hiding with my aunt, but after…after my parents fell…my sister ran out. I heard her scream.” His voice trembled; he wasn’t one to lose himself like this normally, but it was hard to talk about his family. Sometimes he truly missed them.

“How did you get away?” Ondolemar asked, his voice still soft. He felt terrible for the Bosmer in his arms; what a horrible thing to deal with, and so young.

“My aunt,” Ryndoril said shakily. “I told you she was an alchemist. When I started to yell and try to go out after my sister…she shoved some canis root powder in my mouth and clamped her hand over it. She was crying…and she apologized…”

“Canis root powder?” Ondolemar asked. “Why?”

“Paralysis,” Ryndoril whispered. He could feel himself trembling now; it had been a very long time since he’d considered that night, and so thoroughly. He was endlessly grateful for Ondolemar’s kindness. “It has a paralyzing effect. She knew I’d give us away. It…it saved our lives.”

“Ryn,” Ondolemar murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the side of Ryndoril’s head. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea…” His own past wasn’t without its hardship, but he hadn’t had to watch his family be murdered in such a way, at least.

“They searched a little bit, but didn’t find us,” Ryndoril continued, leaning on Ondolemar now. “They decided that must have been it…and they left. My aunt’s small house was down the river a little way…she dragged me there, since I was still paralyzed, and forced me to take another potion to sleep. When I woke up…she’d buried them and taken care of everything. And…so I lived with her for a long time. After what had happened…I didn’t trust anyone else. It was me and her.”

“How could you bear to come here, then?” Ondolemar asked.

“We did a lot of trade with Skyrim, my aunt and I,” Ryndoril explained, pulling himself together a little. “While there was little love for the Thalmor or the Dominion, there was also little love for the Emporer and his ways. Once I lost her, I didn’t really know what else to do, so I came here to Skyrim to try and make my way. I found that a lot of the people here were quite friendly, overall; made a few friends. And so I stayed.”

“Friendly?” Ondolemar snorted.

“You’d be surprised how people react when you’re not acting all high and mighty,” Ryndoril teased, feeling a little bit better. It was lighter, somehow; he realized he’d never really told anyone that story before. Perhaps it had been weighing on him.

“If that happened when you were seventeen,” Ondolemar asked, ignoring his jab, “how old are you?”

“I’m just into my eighth decade,” Ryndoril said. “What about you?”

“I’m halfway through mine,” Ondolemar smiled, wondering at the fact they were so close in age. “How did you not get caught up in the Great War, then?”

“We lived out in the woods,” Ryndoril replied. “Middle of nothing. No one came our way…and I wasn’t about to go looking for trouble then.”

“Understandable,” Ondolemar said. They were quiet for a time; Ondolemar wanted to let Ryndoril have a moment, and Ryndoril was lost in his own thoughts.

“You’re the first person I ever actually told about that,” Ryndoril eventually spoke up. Ondolemar felt his heart give a funny jolt at the admission.

“I thank you for sharing it with me,” Ondolemar said.

“Thank _you_ for being supportive,” Ryndoril said quietly, much more serious than he typically was. Ondolemar’s comfort meant more to him than he could put into words; it had been hard to talk about as he’d imagined, but the Altmer made it bearable. “Anyway,” he added, shaking himself slightly and turning to look up at the other mer. “What about you? Let’s have your story, then.”

“I’m afraid it isn’t any more uplifting than your own,” Ondolemar said ruefully, pulling the Bosmer nearly onto his lap and wrapping his arms around him. It was a great comfort to hold onto someone like this, particularly someone who sincerely cared.

“That’s alright,” Ryndoril said with a small smile, bringing his hand up to stroke Ondolemar’s arm as he took a drink of his wine. Ondolemar followed suit.

“Well, I also had one sibling,” Ondolemar began. “My brother was named Aurelion, and he was four years older than myself. And he never let me forget it,” he added wryly. His brother had always teased him about being younger. Ryndoril chuckled. “We lived with my mother and father. My mother passed when I was twelve,” Ondolemar went on. “She became very sick, and there was nothing the best healers could do for her.”

“What did she have?” Ryndoril asked.

“We never knew,” Ondolemar said. “No one could be sure. But she finally gave into it, whatever it was. My father…didn’t handle it terribly well. He joined the Dominion – my mother had held him back from doing so while she was alive, but without her, he had little else to do.”

“Did she not support the Dominion?”

“Of course she did,” Ondolemar said. “But with two sons…she was afraid to risk my father’s life in such a way, and so he did as she asked. Aurelion was quite young at sixteen to be part of such a thing, but he joined them anyway. Father spent most of his time with the council or going on raids, but Aurelion continued to raise me as best he could. Once I was a little older, I helped him as well. Father was killed in a raid in Elsweyr when I was nearing twenty, and then it was only Aurelion and I. I, of course, joined the Dominion as well. We were partners,” Ondolemar added with a smile. “Always worked together on every mission we were given.”

“It sounds like you were close,” Ryndoril smiled back, liking the happiness in the Altmer’s voice as he talked of his brother.

“Mostly,” Ondolemar laughed. “Between the times where he would wake me up by freezing my bed to ice, and I would set a pack of spectral hounds on him.”

“Nice,” Ryndoril snorted. “What happened to him?”

“Well, eventually the Great War started,” Ondolemar sighed. “We were attempting to take the Imperial City – it ended up being the last battle of the war. Everything was on fire, and then I was surrounded by Legionnaires. Aurelion found me, struck through with arrows, and ordered me to go to the healers, pointing the way. When I tried to do as he said…we were surrounded again. We fought…and eventually I was struck badly enough that I fell.” He took a deep breath. “When I awoke, a young elf had saved me and my wounds were on the mend, but…Aurelion had perished.”

“I’m so sorry,” Ryndoril said softly, bringing one of Ondolemar’s hands up to kiss it. “Is that…is that what you were dreaming of the night after the Forsworn?”

“How did you know that?” Ondolemar asked, curious despite his sadness at remembering the story.

“You kept saying your brother’s name, and asking where he was,” Ryndoril murmured, squeezing Ondolemar’s arm beneath his own. “I didn’t want to mention it and upset you or anything.”

“Ah,” Ondolemar said, resting his head atop the Bosmer’s. “Yes. That was it. I don’t think of it so often, but I presume something about the fight with the Forsworn…”

“Yeah,” Ryndoril nodded. He sighed. “What a pair we make, eh? Neither of us with any family, and tragic pasts to boot.”

“Indeed,” Ondolemar agreed. He squeezed the Bosmer more tightly. “But…I am glad you came to Skyrim all that time ago, if it led to this,” he added, his voice quiet but honest. Ryndoril couldn’t help it, even after the sad discussions of the evening; he grinned widely.

“So am I,” he agreed. He finished off his wine, pulling away from Ondolemar to set the bottle on the end table and taking the Altmer’s as well, and then cuddled back into his embrace. “Hard to picture you as a warrior in battle, though,” Ryndoril added teasingly. “When I only see you sitting at a desk.”

“It’s hardly my fault you didn’t show up until I’d already killed half a dozen of the Forsworn,” Ondolemar retorted, and Ryndoril chuckled. “Believe me, I don’t care for sitting at a desk all the time. But…it is what it is.”

“Well, maybe it’ll change one day,” Ryndoril said. “Maybe I really will take you adventuring with me one of these days. If you lasted until the end of the Great War, it sounds like you’re damn good in battle.”

“Of course I am,” Ondolemar said, the familiar haughty tone back in his voice. Ryndoril laughed and turned, kissing the Altmer on the lips.

“This is nice,” he said, pulling back. “Talking with you, spending time with you like this.”

“Agreed,” Ondolemar said, a fond smile crossing his lips. Despite the depressing tone of conversation, he had enjoyed the time spent with the Bosmer and learning more about him. They were quiet for a while after that, and finally Ondolemar heard a soft snore from the Bosmer in his arms.

He chuckled, glad they were both already in comfortable clothing at least, and settled them both on the bed under the blankets. He pulled Ryndoril firmly into his embrace once more, kissing the top of his head.

“Rest well, Ryn,” he murmured before falling into sleep himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you like these guys - they're still so fun to write :D
> 
> I read somewhere (I think an Elder Scrolls Wiki) that the elves live to be approximately 200ish in general, so Ryn & Ondolemar are the human-equivalent of probably around 30-40ish.
> 
> I love kudos and comments!


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